


The Space Between

by spanglemaker9



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanglemaker9/pseuds/spanglemaker9
Summary: Between S1 and S2.Wolfgang is alone on the night of Kala's wedding.





	The Space Between

He couldn’t feel his fingertips anymore, or his face. Felix had dragged him out to a club tonight, the usual blur of thumping base and flashing blue lights, vodka and ice, hot girls and tiny dresses. Wolfgang had tried to lose himself in it. If he could just drink enough, dance enough, fuck enough, maybe he wouldn’t think about—

It was no good. When Felix had been distracted, trailing some tall blonde around the club, he’d slipped out alone. Berlin was cold, covered over with a rime of ice, dirty week-old snow still lining the gutters. It was too cold to walk, but every time he stopped moving, stopped thinking, even for a second, frozen Berlin vanished. Instead he was drowning in humid heat, the smell of flowers and incense nearly overwhelming, the very air around him seemingly drenched in color.

In a panic, he’d haul himself back to reality—his own reality—and keep walking. Eventually he ran into the river and ran out of energy. For the last two hours, he’d sat on a park bench with a bottle of vodka, freezing, counting to a thousand in German, then again in Russian, then again in English. Anything to keep his mind from that place, that event.

Now and then when he turned his head, he’d find one of the others watching him with anxious eyes. That was the thing about the cluster. They just knew things. Without words being spoken, without having seen or heard anything, they just _knew_ —about him and her. It was a relief, not having to explain things, because Wolfgang was terrible with words. But it sucked, too, because they were all there, poking around in thoughts and feelings he didn’t like admitting, even to himself.

First Nomi came, offering to talk. But he couldn’t handle all her New Age free-spirit stuff, and his bitter silence had scared her off. Then Lito came, rambling on and on in his overblown, florid language about love and loss, sounding like a bad movie script. Then Sun. He could deal with Sun better than most. They were made of the same stuff, him and Sun. But tonight, her brand of stoic silence sat wrong on him.

He didn’t want pity, but he needed compassion—until he got it, and then he shoved it away. He was sick of his own contradictions. He was sick of himself, which was usually no problem. One perk of this crazy connection—when you got sick of being you, you could go be someone else, somewhere else. Not tonight. Tonight he needed to stay rooted in his own body, sitting in Berlin. If he left, no matter where he intended to go, he knew where he’d end up.

Will came next, sitting in silence next to him for some endless time, staring out at the frozen river. Finally, he drew a deep breath and sat forward.

“I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t be with Riley.”

Then he was gone. Thanks for nothing, asshole.

He sat back on the bench, his spine aching from the cold. Was it over yet? Was she married yet? Throughout the day and night—why the hell did Indian weddings last so long?—he’d gotten tiny flashes of it second-hand through the others. Just snippets of their memories when they’d slipped into Kala’s life and back out.

Her sari, deep blood red against her tanned skin, and sparkling with gold and silver.

Her jet black hair, covered in a sheer red scarf.

The gleam of her gold jewelry.

The smell of incense.

The drone of the priest.

Soon it would be all over. She’d still be in his head, but she’d be forever out of his life. He’d spent most of his life wanting things he couldn’t have and this, he told himself, was no different. He just had to survive it, stay strong, stay disciplined.

Capheus came last.

“She’s not happy. She’s still not sure she’s doing the right thing.”

“She is.”

“But—“

“I would destroy her,” Wolfgang said with quiet certainty.

“How do you know that?” 

So Wolfgang showed him, opening his memories up and strolling back through time, past dozens of shattered kneecaps and dislocated fingers and bullets to the back of the head. The guns, the knives, the bombs. The threats, the thefts, the terror, and the fury. The sickening crunch of bones, the shrieks and screams, the splattering of blood and brains, and always, the lies lies lies lies. He went all the way back, back to a scrawny eleven-year-old kid garroting his own father and setting the body on fire.

 “That’s how I know.”

Capheus had mixed it up with African warlords. He’d seen some shit. Now he sat back in stunned silence.

“She’s exactly where she should be,” Wolfgang said.

When he looked again, Capheus was gone, too, and Wolfgang was alone with his pain. Also just as it should be. He would keep his litany of violence and misery locked up here in Berlin, far away from her life. If she got too close, his damage would spread to her, infect her. She was the only bright thing in his life, the only thing good and unsullied, and he would save her from this darkness if it was the last thing he ever did.

When he turned his head again, she was there, silent and staring out over the ice.

“You can’t do this. You can’t come here. Not today.”

“I know.”

She brought warmth with her, a wave of sweet, spice-scented air that burst through the dark, bitter Berlin cold, wrapping around him and seeping into his bones. He took a deep breath and his lungs and his heart and every molecule of his body ached with relief. This was his fatal weakness, this need for her. The ache in his chest intensified, a throb of longing so strong it would have brought him to his knees if he was standing.

His hand grappled for hers, seeking that phantom touch, that sense of completeness he only felt with her, but when he turned to look at her, she was gone.

 

 

 


End file.
